


Lacrimosa

by Jaydee_Faire



Category: Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Grieving, Vomiting, angstfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaydee_Faire/pseuds/Jaydee_Faire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can try to reject your own emotions, but it causes rejections of other kinds, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lacrimosa

**Author's Note:**

> This one was written specifically for Sabra, about a hundred years ago. Post-Canon. Sort of a Bad Myles AU fic in that he doesn't appear in it at all.

Crying?

Butler sat up in bed, tilting his head and going very still, letting the silence descend in his room once more. A moment passed, then two. Then–

There. A gargling sound that was half cough, half sob. Followed by a real sob. By the echoes, not far enough down the hall to be coming from Artemis’ room. Bathroom, then. The guest bath, usually left unused for anything except Beckett’s forays into indoor farming. But now…

Another cough, a hoarse mutter. Then a gagging noise, a choked-off cry of surprise and disgust.

He glanced at the clock. 3:48 AM.

 

It hadn’t been quite a week since the accident. Butler supposed it was five days, today. Five numb, silent, gray days, five days of sitting beside an appropriately quiet and grave Principal and wondering if anyone else was as on edge. If anyone else was waiting for Artemis to either crack, or explode.

Five days ago, Butler had gotten the call. Juliet’s personal cell, a number that she knew her brother would always answer, no matter what else was going on. A number that was reserved for the worst. He’d flipped open the handset, and instead of a greeting, had heard his sister’s strikingly world-weary voice: “You need to tell him before he sees it on the news.” She hadn’t cried, hadn’t had to fight to keep her voice steady. Juliet had never completed Madam Ko’s training, but at least this much had stuck, had kicked in. Damage control. Relay the information. Protect the Principal. 

…the only one that was left.

Butler had listened quietly and patiently, without interruption, as Juliet had reported to him as succinctly as any battle-hardened lieutenant: Improvised Explosive Device, planted on a busy, crowded roadway. Undoubtedly meant for Artemis Senior. The blast had taken out the Fowl’s high-end SUV and all the market stalls in a thirty-foot radius. Civilian casualties were still being determined, but Juliet herself had waded into the wreckage immediately to positively identify Artemis Fowl Senior, Angeline Fowl, and Beckett Fowl– all dead. Killed instantly.

Almost as an afterthought, she mentioned that she was being treated for third-degree burns, riding in the private helicopter that was, even now, transporting the bodies of the Fowls to the nearest airstrip. She’d tried to keep the press away from the blast zone, but couldn’t stay there forever. 

Tell him, she’d said. Let him hear it from you. Sit him down. Don’t let him see it on the news.

“I won’t,” Butler had said, and turned to find Artemis standing in the doorway, face white.

 

Quiet. Very polite, but deftly turning aside any questions about his well-being. Artemis’ mourning blacks weren’t much different than his usual attire, and the sickly paleness of his face didn’t seem too drastic a change from his usual pallor. Butler had accompanied Artemis to the funeral director, for a brief word about the memorial services, scheduled a week out, to allow distant relatives and business partners time to travel. Closed casket, of course, and to be laid to rest in the Fowl mausoleum on the grounds. Flowers, dedications, plaques– there was someone to take care of all that. Insurance and inheritances– well, even the most eager of lawyers would wait at least two weeks to come sniffing.

And then, back to the manor. Huge and empty, the sound of Artemis’ shoes on the parquet flooring too loud, echoing too long where Beckett’s laughter and Angeline’s singing had once been. Butler had been ready, bracing himself for Artemis’ walls to come down, for the tide of grief to come surging forth. Instead, the boy had gone to his room, shut the door, and sat in silence.

For four days.

Five, now.

Butler crept down the hall, towards the thin slice of yellow light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Artemis had closed it, but not all the way, and the hallway had a bitter, acrid smell that told he’d been in a hurry, had only just managed to stagger to that refuge. As Butler moved closer, he heard the boy gag again, a harsh crow of a sound that was mixed with the pain of clenching muscles. He pushed the door open.

Artemis was hunched by the toilet bowl, one hand on the rim, the other vainly trying to hold back his long hair. Several strands of hair had escaped his shaky grip and were hanging in sweat-soaked strands around his face. He glanced up as Butler came through the door, mouth open, eyes pleading, as pathetic as a beaten dog. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, dripping off of the tip of his nose, running down over his chin. He closed his mouth, eyes squeezing shut, and turned towards the bowl again, the lines of his body going painfully rigid. Nothing; whatever few bites Artemis had managed to choke down at dinner had long since left him.

Butler pulled a hand towel from a ring near the sink and damped it in water from the faucet, then knelt to take Artemis’ face in his hands. The boy sagged into his arms, letting him wipe his mouth and hands clean with cool, clean water. That done, he brushed Artemis’ hair away from his face more firmly, twisting it tight and holding it in one massive hand, shifting closer so that the boy could lean against him.

Morning on the fifth day dawned as quiet and gray as the last four had been.


End file.
